Stags, Emerald Eyes and Amortentia
by whitetiger91
Summary: Slughorn has warned us all of the dangerous effects of amortentia, but do you think Draco Malfoy would listen? A one-shot written for the Diagon Alley II battle competition (Warning: it contains very mild slash as part of the prompts).


**Stags, Emerald Eyes and Amortentia**

**_A/N: I do not own anything you recognise here; all Harry Potter related content belongs to the incredibly talented J. K. Rowling._**

**_A big thank you to Arty (ArtOholic) for beta-ing this story and coming up with the title, as well as for helping with the prompts (and Nymphie: nymphxdora) so that the Order can win! This fic was written for the Diagon Alley II Battle Challenge (the prompts of which are outlined below)._**

**_I don't normally write slash and as such, this is my first attempt at it. It's pretty tame and I hope you like what I've done with it :) The story is set in their sixth year and I've tried to make it as close to canon as possible. Where is Ron you might ask? I'm imagining him as being off with Lavender at another table, yet putting it in wasn't really relevant and interfered with the prompts too much._**

**_Thank you for reading, and please enjoy!_**

**Prompts:**

**Dialogue: "I hate myself for still loving you" (3 points)  
Characters: Draco (6+ 1 with Dark Mark), Hermione (5), Oliver Wood (7), Seamus (6)  
Pairing: Drarry (4 + one extra potion if set in sixth)  
Potion: Amortentia (4+5 if canonical symbolism- lilies for his mother, forest smell/ stag for his patronus), Draught of Peace (8)Word: Rose (1), Nipple Clamps (0, may use this to negate the condition of ONE other prompt)  
Spell: Episkey (4), Orchideous (6)**

**Theme: Valentine's (10)**

**Overall: ****67 points**

* * *

"Draught of Peace, I see—an excellent choice of potion for this task, Miss Granger! I look forward to seeing your results! And, of course, with Mister Potter working with you, I'm sure you will create something extraordinary!" Professor Slughorn stood, beaming down at the Gryffindor's work table.

Draco scowled; his only consolation coming from the fact that Granger did not look too pleased with the constant attention being always showered down upon Potter. Of course the Mudblood would try to impress the professor with a potion she could already do—she had proven her aptitude in making the difficult potion the year before.

Every lesson, she would make sure her hand was the first in the air to answer a question, and everyone lesson, she would make herself look even more ridiculous by working herself into a frenzy and creating an even bushier mess of her brown hair. Still, she must have been even stupider than he thought, if she was willing to work with Seamus Finnegan, who was infamous for his ability to blow any potion up. Stupid git.

He turned back to his own potion, hurriedly stirring the mix clockwise, three times, before allowing a small smile to grace his lips. His cauldron now held a liquid that was the colour of daisies, as was in line with the instructions of the new potions book, _Moste Potente Potions_, he had his mother send him for Christmas. He allowed it to simmer for a few moments and sat back, waiting for the professor to walk past.

"Professor Slughorn, sir. I do believe you will enjoy this potion—my grandfather, Abraxus Malfoy, said you enjoyed it when he first brewed it."

Slughorn walked cautiously towards his table, shuffling his overwhelming body past stools that had been carelessly left out—so that he could peer into the cauldron.

"Ah, yes, I do recognise what you have done there. Excellent, excellent—ten points to Slytherin for sticking with the theme for our wonderful Valentine's Day task!"

Draco smirked towards Potter in triumph as Slughorn continued, "I see you boys have decided to delve into such a dangerous potion."

Theodore Nott, one of the few boys he deemed suitable enough to work with, rolled his eyes as the professor continued around the classroom. Despite what Slughorn had said, neither of them believed that Amortentia was that bad at all. As fine Pureblood wizards, of course they could control who they loved, let alone if the fact that they would not be in Slytherin if they were not sly enough to know how to avoid someone slipping the toxic stuff into their beverages, was not obvious enough.

Nevertheless, Draco needed this potion to be brewed perfectly—not only had his grades been slipping since _he_ gave him the task, he also needed to win back the favour of the Potions professor. He had been caught crashing Slughorn's Christmas party a few months before- it wouldn't do to blow his cover image of wanting to be in the 'Slug Club' by failing potions. He already knew that Potter was suspicious—having caught the bloke skulking around the dungeons more than once. It could only be a matter of time before he found out what he was up to; that was unless, of course**,** he was following him because…. no, that was an absolutely ridiculous, horrid and completely unwarranted line of thought that he should never have allowed to enter his mind in the first place.

Shaking his head, he noticed that his cauldron was emitting a hazy pink smoke and began to stir it again.

He was in the process of pouring in some Syrup of Hellebore, when his thoughts were interrupted by the loud conversation coming from across the room—

"Do you think you're going to have some more tryouts next year? Only, I ran into Oliver Wood over the break and he gave me a few pointers." Finnegan was talking rapidly, ignoring Grangers' motions for him to hand her the next ingredient. "Did you know he now plays for Puddlemore United? Well, he's on the reserve team, anyway, but their Keeper got hit in the leg by a bludger in a practise so he might get to play in the next game…"

"Damn!" He had been so busy listening to Finnegan's rambling that he put in the ground tree bark instead of the required bicorn horn. The potion now bubbled furiously, until it turned a golden colour. Furious that it was now ruined, he picked up an unused doxy egg and threw it at Finnegan.

Unfortunately, it missed his target and hit Potter right on the nose, causing it to instantly swell. Theodore nudged him from behind, smirking, as Blaise Zabini started laughing on his other side. Draco smiled, winking at his companions, before returning to his work. His attempts to change the potion's colour were futile, so he snuck a peak at what was happening across the room.

"_Episkey_," Granger was showing off, pointing her wand at his nose so that it returned to its normal state. "Really, Harry, you ought to remember that spell."

Her action annoyed him immensely, though he wasn't quite sure why. Surely Potter could fix his own damn nose? He may be a Gryffindork, but he wasn't that dumb that he couldn't do a simple spell. He didn't need her to look after him and hover over him; she wasn't his girlfriend. He was independent, and if he wanted help he could've just asked and… no. What was he thinking? Of course Potter was useless. It must be the fumes in the room contorting his thoughts.

Shaking his head yet again, he returned to trying to fix the potion. His partners were no help at all, choosing to argue over which ingredients worked best in Healing Potions. Peering into the golden liquid, he couldn't help but be reminded of a Snitch. Perhaps it was the way Finnegan continued to prattle on about team try-outs and Oliver Wood that his mind wandered to Quidditch and his memories of chasing the golden ball around the pitch.

He allowed himself to close his eyes, ignoring the ache in his right arm as it throbbed with the weight of its new addition under his sleeve. He wouldn't allow the Dark Mark, which had now begun to make him feel sick, rather than proud, whenever he dared glimpse at it, to marre his visions of stretching out his arm and winning the game for Slytherin. Despite standing in the cold, poorly lit dungeon, he could feel the wind ripping through his sleek hair, trying to break its gelled hold. He felt his robes whip around him; could see his goal brush by his fingers. He could even sense a figure behind him, coming closer, until it whizzed by in a blur of red and gold.

"-lfoy, Malfoy! Get a grip, mate, we need to add in some flowers to get this back on track."

Draco blinked, annoyed that his daydream had been broken into. Showing his obvious distaste by glaring at Theodore, he prepared to clear the image in his mind. "I don't understand why we can't just continue with learning new potions. I've said it once before, I'll be glad when I leave this place and the likes of them," he gestured to the Gryffindor table, where Granger was looking back and forth between her potion, the classroom hourglass, and Slughorn. "Nevermind the poor conditions of this classroom, it's a wonder no one has fainted yet."

Making sure that neither boy at his table brought up his lack of focus, he flipped through the book to see which flower would be best to use.

"Ten minutes left to finish your concoctions! I cannot wait to see what you have come up with! I have a special prize of chocolate hearts for the winner of the best brew, and twenty points apiece for the winner's houses!" Slughorn smiled wearily at the group of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs working together, whose Beautification Potion was bubbling dangerously, emitting sickly red fumes into the air. "Oh ho! I see Mr McMillion has been busy looking at the decorations around the room and forgotten to add Mistletoe berries!"

Draco ignored the professor's announcement, finding a flower he could use in his potion. Clearing his throat, he picked up his dark wand and waved his arm in a circular motion, "_Orchideous_".

Before him, a small pile of white lilies appeared, and he eagerly picked them up so he could peel off the delicate petals. It was much easier than using roses and navigating through their sharp thorns. As he placed them into his cauldron, the liquid's surface turned into a pearly white, emitting a potent smell.

"That looks better, I'll go get a bottle to place it in," Blaise said as he stood up, looking towards a few girls gossiping about their Valentine's plans. Malfoy waved him off with a smirk, rolling his eyes at Theodore as he engaged himself in a thick volume about the use of herbs and fungi in different poisons.

Looking to see if anyone was watching, he leant closer to the mixture and gave a tentative sniff. His mind seemed to cloud over as scenes of the forest danced before his eyes. The smell was an overwhelming mix of rain arising from the leafy soil after a storm, and the bark of pine trees in the winter.

Blinking slowly, he took in another deep breath, consumed by its familiar aroma. As it became even more powerful, he was transported into another day dream of sorts, imagining now that he was walking through the Forbidden Forest. This time, however, he was not with the great oaf of a groundskeeper and a cowardly dog; instead, he felt comforted by the sounds of birds chirping high above him as he followed the white ghost of a stag prancing through the undergrowth. Once again his right forearm burned as he reached out, trying to grasp the fine form. He knew it was leading him somewhere out of the darkness, away from any of his dark intentions.

After walking several meters, it paused, turning its head to face him slowly. Through the fog of his mind, he knew that no ghost or Patronus should have coloured eyes, let alone brilliant emerald ones, yet ignored it as the animal seemed to stare straight past him. He narrowed his own grey eyes, trying to make out the expression it wore. Was it fear? Or knowing? He could hear something move behind him but was not ready to look away.

"Well done, boys, a nice try at Amortentia. However, I would advise that you next time to go a little easy on the stirring next time, that smell is a little overwhelming. Why, I will probably smell Madame Rosmerta's fine mead for a week, now!" The professor chortled, before moving on to praise Granger and Potter.

Draco gritted his teeth, shooting a warning glance at anyone who had been watching him, including Theodore, whose eyebrows were raised. Rubbing his sore arm, he shot an icy glare at Theodore before turning it on Potter as the boy eyed him suspiciously.

In the back of his mind he sort of felt…sympathetic**… **for the boy. He knew what was coming, or what he hoped would be coming, yet some tiny part of him admitted that he did not want Harry to get hurt. No, not Harry, Potter. He would soon have one death on his hands, he didn't need another—besides, the fool would probably get himself killed sooner or later.

Perhaps he ought to rub it in his face, let him know he wouldn't be safe, that his task would improve his chances in the war that was sure to come—that would irk him. He ought to also apologise for hitting his nose, again; he could rub it in that he could cause pain, elongate the amusement of his prank. Yes, he would do that.

He stood up, ensuring all his ingredients were neatly placed in his bag and searched around for the remaining lilies he had not torn to shreds. He would present Potter with the flowers, and smile sympathetically in a way that would suggest that he was about to die; hugging the boy would probably take it too far. Plastering his master-smirk on his face, he smoothed his pale locks in one hand and strode forward.

Finnegan was now rambling on to Granger in a poor attempt to get her more enthusiastic about the sport. If he didn't know any better, he would say that the sandy-haired boy was also trying to impress Slughorn with his mentions of the almost-famous ex-Gryffindor captain; "Wood was saying that his training schedule is strict, you know. He has to start training at five AM some days! I heard him mention that the Falmouth Falcons use more torturous training methods, even nipple clamps!"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" Draco heard Granger scoff, as she helped Potter stand up. This only served to get on his nerves as he watched her pull on Potter's shoulder and earned herself a smile of appreciation.

"It's true! He'll be coming around to visit Hogwarts soon, he'll tell you himself. Harry I hope that you choose some fresh faces next year, Dean would be pretty good as a Chaser or Beater and I'd love to show you all the moves I got to practice."

"Well, I do suppose his love of the game did get him a somewhat decent job-"

"Somewhat decent? Man, I would love to be in Wood's position right now!"

The Gryffindorks finally stopped their petty bickering as he got closer, giving him a reproachful glare before walking towards the door. He sped up, not giving them the small satisfaction of beating him out of the stuffy room.

"Hey, Scarhead, got you something!" He thrust the lilies he was holding in the boy's face, making sure to scrape his nose with the stems, "Thought I should say sorry for hurting you earlier."

"Ignore them, Harry, they're probably poisoned or something. Let's just go."

"Shove off, Malfoy, I don't have time for this." Potter tried to push past him, so he rammed his own body as hard as he could into his shoulder.

"No one asked for your filthy opinion, Granger. You're right though Potter; you probably won't have much time left to do anything."

He was glad that Blaise and Theodore had come up behind him, both smirking knowingly at what he was implying. Draco's own smirk became wider as he noticed a small bruise on the side of Blaise's neck, revealed by the boy's now loose tie.

"Leave her alone out of this. Is that supposed to be a threat?" Potter stepped forwards as both Granger and Finnegan tried to restrain him.

"Don't worry, you'll find out soon enough. Consider the warning as my Valentine's Day present to all those I hate."

"Well, consider this my present to the person I hate and everybody else hates." Potter glared at him, thrusting the now crushed doxy egg into his palm with the lilies. He looked at his arm before directing his intriguing emerald eyes to his own grey ones, "and don't worry, I will find out what you are up to."

"As if you could. C'mon boys." Draco was annoyed at how careless Potter could be as he summoned Blaise and Theodore to follow him to their common room. As they walked farther away from the classroom, angry thoughts swirled through his head, replacing any peaceful ones he had earlier. How dare he insinuate that he was unpopular? How dare he defend that Mudblood? He crumpled the flowers in his fist, throwing them unceremoniously to the stone ground. No one could hate him, and if they did, well, they could sod off.

No, that wasn't entirely true. Only one person could hate him, and with good reason. As he continued walking, one thought dominated his mind as he tried to draw up happier images of Quidditch and forests, only to think of red and gold and a stag with green eyes, 'I hate myself for still loving you.'


End file.
